


Regarding Valentine's

by AnonymousDandelion



Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (as per usual), (fyi they're just hanging out and talking), (so feel free to read their relationship however you like), Aziraphale is Bad at Being an Angel (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Good at Being an Angel (Good Omens), Banter, Bickering, Brief melancholy, Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is Good at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Dialogue Heavy, Fluff, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Reminiscing, Valentine's Day, because reference to martyrdom, but mostly lighthearted, the relative goodness or badness all depends on your perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:41:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28846227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousDandelion/pseuds/AnonymousDandelion
Summary: “Valentine’s Day,” Crowley remarks, “is my fault. The commercialized version, anyway. Caught on like a dream. Didn’t even take much effort on my end, honestly. It was already well on its way. Just gave a few nudges here and there, humanity took care of the rest. Piece of… of… of whatever you have a piece of. Of something.”“Do you know,” Aziraphale says, looking and sounding like he can’t decide whether to be more resigned or amused, “I was rather positive that Valentine’s Day was mine.”~~~OR: Crowley and Aziraphale talk about Valentine's Day. That is the one and only plot.Featuring banter, reminiscence, and realization.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 65
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Regarding Valentine's

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to just be fluff and banter. I realized halfway through that we had to take a detour into a segment of unplanned melancholy, so warning for brief mention of martyrdom. Otherwise, however, it remains primarily lighthearted fluff and banter.
> 
> On a side note, this little piece is apparently my eightieth published fic (between my two pseuds), as well as bumping my official AO3 word count up over 100k! Seven months ago, on a whim, I wrote a story about a [sentient door to a Mayfair flat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25109890/). I confidently assured my friend that this was a fluke, a one-time occurrence, I'd never ever get inspired to write fanfic again. How Agnes Nutter laughed.
> 
> ...Anyway, now I wish I'd hit this mini milestone with a higher-quality piece of work, but I suppose this is as good a time as any to say thank you so much to everyone who's read, left kudos, or commented on any of my works! It never ceases to dumbfound me that anyone would actually want to read my writing. And it's very largely thanks to your encouragement that I'm still here and posting.

“Valentine’s Day,” Crowley remarks, “is my fault.”

“It is?” Aziraphale looks startled. “Really?”

“Yup.” Crowley pops the _p_ _,_ with more than a touch of pride _._ “The commercialized version, anyway. Caught on like a dream. Didn’t even take much effort on my end, honestly. It was already well on its way. Just gave a few nudges here and there, humanity took care of the rest. Piece of… of… of whatever you have a piece of. Of something.”

“Hm,” Aziraphale says noncommittally.

“Not that I told Hell the part about it being easy, obviously. Just told ‘em I did it. Don’t think they really got the point, but they were impressed anyway. Gave me a commendation and everything.”

“You got commended for Valentine’s Day?” Aziraphale is frowning slightly. “You never mentioned that to me before.”

“Eh.” Crowley moves a shoulder. “Did most of my part in the nineteenth century. After I woke up. Helped with keeping my mind off… things. You know.”

He doesn’t really want to revisit that period of estrangement — not now that it’s safely in the past. Fortunately, Aziraphale does indeed seem to understand; the angel nods, face going momentarily soft, then returns to the prior point of discussion. “You mean to tell me, Hell approved a holiday about love?”

“Hah!” Crowley snorts. “We’re talking about _Valentine’s Day._ Holiday about love? Who said anything about that?”

“Well, of course it’s about love. I do believe that is the whole point of the holiday.”

“Like Heaven it is,” Crowley counters. “Corrupting a saint’s day, promoting capitalism, commodifying relationships… and that’s all on top of the generalized stress and strife! I mean, seriously, do you have any _idea_ how many breakups happen around this time? _And_ it makes single people miserable, too. Lose-lose. A real masterpiece of evil, I’m telling you.”

This is approximately the point in his speech when, if Crowley were giving a presentation in Hell, he would probably have paused to request a wahoo.[1]

Since today he has the good fortune to _not_ be in Hell — and the even better fortune to be with Aziraphale — Crowley squints, something about Aziraphale’s expression kindling a sudden spark of suspicion. “Why’re you looking at me like that, angel?”

“Do you know,” Aziraphale says, looking and sounding like he can’t decide whether to be more resigned or amused, “I was rather positive that Valentine’s Day was mine.”

“You were _what?”_ Crowley goggles. “What the. _Why?”_

“Well, excuse me for being _sensible_ about these things,” Aziraphale shoots back. “It’s an entire holiday dedicated to love — and all in the name of a saint!”

“All in the name of a saint of _epilepsy._ Not one of chocolate.”

“Oh, don’t be so nitpicky.”

Crowley sputters, rendered temporarily speechless by the spectacular heights of hypocrisy attained by that accusation in the mouth of Aziraphale.

“And I’m sure Valentinus would have enjoyed chocolate,” the angel goes on, “if only he had had the chance to try it. He always did have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

That’s news to Crowley. “What, did the pair of you get together for savillum on the weekends, or something?”

“Well,” Aziraphale replies calmly, “we only had savillum once or twice. I much preferred his patina de piris.”

“Ngk.”

“The fellow knew how to make a good pudding. Good conversation, too. A little eccentric on occasion, perhaps, but I did like him.” Now, the nostalgia in Aziraphale’s eyes turns sad. “I was out of town when he died, you know. It was… I might have been able to do something. Only I didn’t hear about any of it until afterwards. And by then it was too late, of course.”

Crowley knows that feeling all too well, from far more personal experience than he cares to think about. The shock, the grief, the helplessness. The guilt. “You know you were never allowed to interfere with martyrdoms,” he offers, feeling inadequate. “You remember what happened the last time you tried, yeah? With Shimon and his lot?”

Aziraphale sighs.

“There was nothing you could have done,” Crowley tells him, as gently as he can.

“I never even found out whether Val was an official martyr, though. Heaven-sanctioned, I mean. It might have just been humans.”

Since no appropriately comforting words present themselves in the face of the human capacity for cruelty, Crowley just echoes the angel’s sigh.

They sit in companionable melancholy.

At last, Aziraphale straightens and shakes his head, visibly making the decision to redirect the conversation back onto its previously lighthearted tangent. “In any case, as far as the holiday goes, remembrance of his name has to count for something. And besides, it’s a celebration of love. That’s beautiful in its own right.”

Crowley considers making some sort of snarky interjection about love. Somehow, he finds, at the moment he can’t quite manage it.

“I put in quite a bit of effort to ensure the day’s continued popularity. I must say, Heaven was pleased to hear of my success.” Aziraphale lowers his voice, tone now conspiratorial. “Although I do admit, I did not include anything about chocolates in my report. Nor did I make mention of Val’s pear pudding and cheesecake.”

 _“Cake!”_ Crowley yells triumphantly. “That’s it! It was a piece of _cake!_ The— _oh._ ” He breaks off, exclamation abruptly becoming a groan as, a few seconds late, the other implications of Aziraphale’s statement sink in. “Oh. Shoot. You mean… that’s the reason it was so easy, wasn’t it? We were both working on the same thing.”

“That does rather seem to be the case,” Aziraphale acknowledges.

Slowly, speculatively, a smile begins to spread across the angel’s face.

“What is it now?” Crowley grumbles.

“Well,” Aziraphale says thoughtfully. The smile grows. “It’s only… I suppose that means we were still carrying on with the Arrangement, all those years. Helping each other. Collaborating. Claiming credit for each other’s work. Even if we didn’t realize it at the time.”

“Gosh.” Crowley gapes at Aziraphale. Then, he throws back his head and bursts into a peal of delighted laughter.

Valentine’s Day, in general, _is_ undoubtedly a masterpiece of evil. Crowley will stand by his claim, whatever Aziraphale says.

All things considered, though, he can’t deny that this particular Valentine’s Day is shaping up to be pretty good.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 Whereupon, depending on their mood, the assembled audience would have responded with catcalls, boos, and/or menacing silence. On no condition would any member of all the hosts of Hell — with the possible, very rare exception of a particularly hapless Eric — ever, ever give Crowley a wahoo. Hell’s workplace culture is, perhaps unsurprisingly, literal Hell.[return to text]
> 
> Saint Valentine/Valentinus was a Christian martyr. Or possibly two Christian martyrs, depending which historian you ask. The author knows very little about him, aside from what she gleaned through skimming a Wikipedia page, for which she apologizes. She also has no idea if there is any historical evidence to indicate that Valentine (or either one of him) had a sweet tooth.
> 
> Crowley's mention of "Shimon and his lot" is a reference to the Ten Martyrs — a group of rabbis executed by the Roman Empire. A (very dramatic license) version of their deaths is recounted in the poem _Eleh Ezkerah_ , which includes a section in which the angels cry out in protest at what is happening, and a voice from heaven answers essentially, "Be quiet or I'll destroy the world." Obviously, Aziraphale would have been among the protestors.
> 
> On a more cheerful note, savillum (cheesecake) and patina de piris (pear pudding) were evidently both eaten in Ancient Rome? The author has, however, never been to Ancient Rome, and she has also never spent more than approximately fifteen minutes researching Ancient Roman desserts. She hopes, therefore, that the information she found on random websites is accurate. 
> 
> The author sends early wishes for a happy Valentine's Day to those readers who celebrate it, and hopes they have a good and safe day. The author wishes a happy, good, and safe day to those who do not celebrate Valentine's Day as well. In addition, the author enjoins the reader to remember that they are an awesome and valuable human (or angel or demon, as the case may be), no matter their relationship status or lack thereof. <3 
> 
> The author is apparently, for reasons unknown, writing her excessively lengthy end notes in the third person today. 
> 
> And finally, the author thanks the reader for reading, and hopes that they enjoyed! And in case the reader has anything they'd like to say, the author is made immensely happy by comments. :)


End file.
